Free Lord of the Black Isle by Elaine Coffman Page A

to a cowboy swagger as one could get in Early Renaissance Scotland. She realized she truly liked his build, for it seemed much more masculine to her than that of the twenty-first-century males who hung out at the gym building body mass that they would never use.
    She glanced at his sword, trying to remember what Isobella told her about the swords of this time period, but all she recalled was it was long, double handled, and very well kept, for it fairly gleamed. Because of the size and double handle, she thought a fair guess would be that it was a claymore, but she had been wrong before. She turned her attention back to David, thinking that she knew he was a man of honor, self-discipline, bravery, and strong mental bearing, for she had witnessed his calm demeanor, and knowing that he was a knight, she knew he would embody these traits. Simply said, he had that superior kind of manner that one would envy, and in many ways he reminded her of Alysandir, for they were both Highlanders of Celtic, or in David’s case, Celtic-Flemish stock, and they both lived by the same code, that of a knight.
    Her study was cut short when he returned with a small pouch and a silver cup, and she watched as he poured what she thought was probably mead or uisge beatha , the ancestor of the Scots whisky of the twenty-first century.
    He offered the cup to her. When she hesitated, he said, “Drink it doon, mistress. ’Twill ease the effects of travel and grant ye a peaceful sleep.”
    She tilted her head to one side and gave him a serious stare, as if trying to see the inner workings of his mind. “I’m afraid I would have to have several of these in order to have a peaceful sleep with a total stranger.”
    His comeback was quick, sharp, and to the point. “Then mayhap I shouldna remain a stranger.”
    She gulped and almost choked, but recovered quickly enough that she hoped he did not see it. “Don’t get your hopes up,” she said as she took the cup from him. She could tell by the fumes that it was whisky, and she felt the burn in her nose when she sipped it. She smiled, thinking back to another time, far, far away.
    â€œWhat pleasures ye?”
    â€œNothing… it was just a memory.”
    â€œYe would prefer not to tell me of this memory?”
    She took another sip. “I was remembering a time when my sister and I were much younger, and we drank some of our father’s whisky… actually, a lot of our father’s whisky, and we couldn’t seem to stop talking and singing, and everything made us laugh… until the next day, when we thought we were dying.”
    He almost smiled; in fact there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Aye, it robs the mind of wit.”
    She finished the whisky and handed him the cup. “Your turn,” she said, and watched him fill the cup and take a few sips. Before he could say anything, she rose to her feet. “I think the whisky is having the desired effect, and I would like to lie down before I fall down, so if you would be so kind as to tell me if I am permitted to go to sleep now.”
    â€œAye,” he said in his usual reticent manner, and nodded toward his plaid.
    â€œThank you,” she said, and toddled off, feeling quite mellow, warm, and quite sleepy.
    She had a vague memory of having lain down before she fell asleep. She wasn’t certain how long she slept before she became vaguely aware of him lying down beside her, closer to the cave opening, which meant he would greet any wolves that stopped by for a visit. That bit of information warmed her to the core and with a sigh, and she smiled and felt her muscles relax.
    As for him, David spent a great part of his time studying Elisabeth as a spectator would, for he quietly and carefully noted her behavior—quiet and careful observation being a valuable source of information. She was beautiful, but what intrigued him more was that there was something different, yet